


Offering

by marmolita



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arousal - Forced Orgasm, Dubious Consent, Loss of Virginity, Magic - Ritual/Spell Requires Xcon, Other, Religion - Sacred Ceremony/Ritual Requires Sex (Willing Participants or Not), Ritual Sex, Sex Sacrifice, Sex with a Statue, Shapeshifting - Aggressor's cock grows larger inside Victim, shapeshifting genderfluid deity, these tags seem random but I promise they are not, virgin priest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/pseuds/marmolita
Summary: People brought their horses to the festival, to trade, to breed.  They also brought their daughters and sons to marry, and they brought their childless friends and relatives to receive the god's blessings.  If Yanil was to ask the god to make the people fruitful, he had to sacrifice something of himself.
Relationships: Nonbinary Minor Deity/Male Priest Worshipping Them, Original Male Character(s)/Original Non-Binary Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 57
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Offering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonGoddex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonGoddex/gifts).



> WARNINGS: dubious consent -- the priest expects to perform a sex ritual alone, but the deity shows up and insists on completing the ritual together.
> 
> Content note: the non-binary/genderfluid deity can shapeshift and have whichever body shape/genitalia combination they choose.
> 
> Shoutout to [when the ritual begins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13680153) by tsunderestorm for making me think about sex with a statue as a religious ritual!

The joyous cacophony of the fall festival was quieted by the thick wooden door of the sanctum as it clicked shut. Yanil leaned back against it, taking a moment to recover. It was an honor, of course, to be reassigned from serving in the small chapel in his hometown to Koll, where the central temple was the focal point for the nation's worship of Tambrin, the horse god.

It wasn't as fancy as the temple in the capital city, but that one was all for show. Koll was the heart of Tambrin's domain, and the biannual festival their largest mass worship.

Yanil had been to the festival before, when he was a child. He'd marveled at the herds of fine horses brought for trade, flowers woven into their manes, garlands draped around their withers. It was then that he'd felt the calling to the priesthood. He'd lost his mother in the crowd and found himself alone at the fence of the temple paddock, face to face with a pure white mare. She'd lowered her head to him, her dark eyes deep with boundless affection, and his heart had leapt with joy.

The acolyte who found him understood immediately, of course. The mare, one of the oracles of Tambrin, had chosen him.

Now, fully grown, he understood exactly how much hard work the priests put into preparations for the festival. He felt the weariness of the long hours he'd spent blessing the herds, his arms aching from reaching up to garland each horse brought before him, the flower wreaths tightly woven by the temple acolytes, who sometimes missed stripping off a thorn here and there.

Still, he wouldn't change it for anything. He felt the god's presence in each horse he blessed, saw divinity in the depths of their eyes. He knew Tambrin would bless them with strength and fertility.

Pushing himself off the door, Yanil sighed, making his way through the sanctum to the ritual cleansing chamber. A hot bath was waiting for him, the water opaque with the mare's milk blended into it and fragrant with crushed rose petals. It had been a long day, but Yanil had one more duty to perform.

*

As he soaked, Yanil meditated on the fresco of Tambrin painted all along the ceiling. The central image was a herd, of course, but the other stories were illustrated around it. In one, they appeared in the form of a beautiful woman, her eyes deep and lambent, offered hospitality by a barren couple; the second panel portrayed the couple blessed with a child nine months later. In another panel, the god took the form of a strong young man, taking up the yoke left empty when a farmer lost his plow horses to a hard, hungry winter. He plowed the field single handedly, and the wheat grew thick and tall. In yet another, Tambrin provided milk to a starving child in the form of a mare. As a stallion, they led the charge in a war to protect the land.

Strength and fertility, combined into one all-loving god. Was it any wonder that Yanil had become a devotee?

He emerged from the bath and dried himself, not bothering to dress. For this ritual, he only needed his bare skin.

People brought their horses to the festival, to trade, to breed. They also brought their daughters and sons to marry, and they brought their childless friends and relatives to receive the god's blessings. If Yanil was to ask the god to make the people fruitful, he had to sacrifice something of himself.

*

The statue of Tambrin was a reflection of the god's duality: a mare on one side, a stallion on the other, and the god seated between them, two beautiful faces carved in marble. Two faces, one male and one female, merging into a single body, split down the middle. Their legs were spread, erect phallus standing up above the carven folds of the female sex. The torso was split down the middle, broad and muscular on one side, the other side curved, with one full breast.

In his home town chapel, there had only been a crude sculpture of Tambrin's horse form, and he'd had to perform the fertility ritual without any help. But here, the statue waited for him invitingly, ready to help him sacrifice his seed to the god.

Dedicated to Tambrin, Yanil's fertility was held for the god alone. He would never know the touch of another person -- only the his own hand and the god's divine presence -- and that suited him well enough. He ran his hand along the smooth marble of the statue's thigh, his cock beginning to swell in anticipation.

The acolytes had left oil, of course, but he didn't need it yet. Climbing into the statue's lap, he leaned up to press his lips against the cool marble of the female form's face, then the male's, warming them with the heat of his own body. Bowing his head, he murmured the ritual prayer, entreating Tambrin to accept his sacrifice and bring fertility to the people and the herds.

As he embraced the statue, he felt the god's presence descend upon the sanctum, warming his body and filling his cock. He murmured the names of the families who had asked for Tambrin's blessing, leaving a kiss on the marble form for each one. The curve of the statue's breast felt almost real under his hand, as did the hard ridge of its cock.

Yanil took the oil and spread it over his fingers, giving his cock a few strokes to get himself all the way hard before reaching out to coat the marble phallus. He ran his fingers over the carven folds beneath it, dipping them inside before replacing them with his cock. It was easy to slide in, the stone still cool against his overheated skin, but he knew even as he lowered his lips to the statue's smooth breast that this wasn't going to be enough for him to provide the sacrifice he needed for the blessings to take hold.

Tambrin wouldn't accept a meager offering. But the statue was here to help, and through his exhaustion, Yanil knew what worked best for his body. He opened himself up with the ease of long practice, then pulled out and climbed up higher on the statue, imagining Tambrin as a real lover as he kissed the male face's lips and lowered himself down.

The statue's cock was thick, and angled just right. It was easy to get a rhythm going, to let his body ramp itself up as he murmured prayers under his breath. His eyes slid closed as he focused on feeling the fullness inside him and the god's presence in the sanctuary. He could almost smell the sweet hay and roses he'd spent the day in, could almost hear the stamping of hooves--

Yanil froze, opening his eyes. Behind him, there was another stomp, and he turned to look over his shoulder. There, in the sanctum, tossing its hair and blowing air out its nose, was a horse. The sanctuary doors were closed, but the acolytes must have been having their fun, letting one of the temple's sacred herd in here to interrupt the ritual.

Disentangling himself from the statue, Yanil sighed and approached the horse. The light of the candles was dim, but he could see the glossy brown of the horse's coat, the fine black mane, the white patch between its eyes.

None of the herd had a white patch like that.

Frowning, he laid a gentle hand on the horse's nose--

\--and suddenly, there was no longer a horse in front of him, but a tall, very naked woman. "The ritual is incomplete," she said. Heart pounding, Yanil looked into her eyes, as deep and dark as the horse's had been, and he knew this was no mortal woman.

"I will have my sacrifice," Tambrin said, as Yanil fell to his knees. "Will I not?"

"O-- of course," he managed, bowing low, scrambling to find words and trying to resist the urge to cover himself. Fear warred with ecstasy, the god's presence overwhelming and awesome. "I didn't know-- I wasn't expecting to--"

Tambrin laughed, their voice like bells. "This ritual is my due, is it not, priest? How did you not expect my presence?"

"I'm sorry, Divine One," Yanil said, chancing a glance up at their beautiful face. "You have never graced me with your physical presence before."

Tambrin cupped his cheek, their warm fingers sending tingles through his skin. "It's harder to reach the smaller chapels," they said, brushing long, brown hair over their shoulder. "But you've always been one of my most devoted priests, have you not? My mare chose you."

"Yes, Divine One."

"Well then," they said. "Give me my offering, and we shall see if it's enough to bless your herds."

Yanil hesitated, uncertain what to do. Of course he had to complete the ritual -- what else could he do? Perhaps he could mount the statue again, or try to bring himself off at Tambrin's feet. There was no training for this, no reference he could think of to tell him what the right choice was, no experience he could lean on. His erection had flagged, fear and awe overcoming his earlier arousal, but he moved his hand to it, trying to stroke himself back to full hardness.

Tambrin's hand was on his cheek again, and they pulled him up by it. "Is that all you will have for me? Your pleasure is mine, priest."

He was hot all over as he stood, ashamed of his failure and shaking with nerves at being exposed like this. Nobody had ever watched him perform the ritual, and he'd never been intimate with anyone but the god. It took everything he had not to pull away from Tambrin's touch when they pulled him in and kissed him.

"Is this form displeasing to you, priest?" Tambrin asked when they separated. Yanil tried to protest, but the woman's body disappeared, replaced by a broad-shouldered man, his cock hanging long and heavy between his legs. "Do you prefer me like this?"

What he preferred was a marble statue and his own hand, but he wouldn't deny a god. "I live to serve, Divine One," he managed.

"Yes," Tambrin said, smiling possessively. "You do."

*

It wasn't that Yanil didn't want to fulfill his duties. Tambrin was attractive in every form, their divinity carved into their features, and any man would want to please them.

It was that he'd never been touched by another's hand, and he never expected to be. The entire situation would have been inconceivable a week ago, a day ago, an hour ago.

Tambrin was gentle with him, but not excessively so. They plundered his mouth, taking his words as an invitation, and left him trembling, his lips wet and tender from the kiss, too nervous to think clearly. He'd been riding the statue only minutes before, but it was still a struggle to relax enough to open for Tambrin's thick cock when they bent him over and took him.

It wasn't anything like the statue. Tambrin's cock was hot, silky soft where it rubbed against his skin, dripping at the tip and leaving a sticky trail along his thigh before reaching his hole and pushing inside. Draped over the statue's lap, Yanil grasped feebly at its carven hips as Tambrin ran possessive hands over his back.

"So tight, little priest," Tambrin said. "I know you've saved yourself entirely for me. But I'm here, now, and I know you want to give me the offering I demand."

"Y-- yes, Divine One," Yanil panted, his back arching as he tried to adjust to the stretch of the god's cock.

"I hope you've been saving your come for me as well," they said before thrusting in hard, making Yanil's head knock against the statue's belly. "It will take a lot of seed to ensure the next generation of horses and men."

Though his heart still beat rabbit-fast with fear, Yanil's body responded to the god's attention and the foreign feeling of skin against his, his cock rapidly swelling back to full hardness. It was overwhelming, nerve-wracking, enough to keep him always on the verge of protest but holding himself back. Closing his eyes and holding on to the statue, he began to repeat the prayers from earlier to give himself something to focus on.  _ This _ was what he was here for; this was why he had to complete the ritual.

"Yes," Tambrin sighed, hands stroking his back. "You'll come on my cock, won't you? I own your pleasure, and I know you want to please me. Say your prayers, priest. I will bless each family and herd you name before you give me your offering."

Yanil choked on his words as Tambrin's cock slammed into him hard, hitting him at an angle that made him see stars. "Oh Divine One--" he began again, panting around the ritual words, "grant us your-- your blessing. May we reap the b-- the bounty of the seeds sown this autumn, and your gift of life gr--" Choking back a moan, he forced himself to continue. "...grow strong in the herds and families I name, as I offer you my-- my seed."

Tambrin leaned closer over his body, and Yanil shivered at the touch of something brushing over his back. Turning his head, he saw that Tambrin had shifted forms again, their full breasts dragging over the expanse of his back as they kept fucking him, their long hair falling all around his shoulders. "Yes," Tambrin breathed, "I will grant your blessings, priest, when I have received my offering."

Turning back to the statue and lowering his forehead to press against a marble thigh, Yanil gasped, "The Ardeny family from Tuula has had no foals in a year. I humbly ask your blessing upon them." His cock was starting to ache, the relentless pressure inside him making his skin burn and his heart pound. "The Kotara herd has brought a new stallion to mix their stock. Anjar Kotara's daughter has-- has wed, and hopes for a child. I humbly ask your-- ohh-- your blessing upon them."

There was a tingling starting up throughout his body, the divine presence growing into something stronger as he continued to name the families and herds. He lost his words for a moment when the tingling grew sharp, Tambrin's form changing again, their cock growing bigger inside him and rubbing against him in such a maddening way it was difficult to recall his own name, much less his purpose.

"Keep going, priest," Tambrin murmured, their voice echoing in a way that his ears struggled to comprehend. "I'm waiting for you."

"The B-- Beyar herd-- lost two foals in the sp-- spring--" Yanil's fingers scrabbled for purchase on the smooth marble of the statue. Tambrin's hands wrapped around his hips, one small and delicate, one large and rough. Power flowed from each finger, straight through his body into his cock, which kicked helplessly, dripping over the marble. "I hum-- humbly ask your-- ahh-- your blessing!"

There was no holding back, no ability to stop the heat rushing through his body. Yanil cried out, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he came in waves, spilling his seed over the statue's legs. It felt like his entire body was being turned inside out, his pleasure being drawn out of him and sucked away, pulling his consciousness along with it.

*

Yanil blinked his eyes open, groaning weakly. His hot cheek was pressed against something cold and smooth -- the statue, he realized slowly. The statue, where he had-- where the god--

He tried to get up, but his body was hard to move, a deep lassitude filling his every muscle. As he slowly righted himself, the statue was the first thing he was able to see clearly. There was no trace of the mess he must have made of it, and for a moment he thought perhaps he'd been so tired that he fell asleep without completing the ritual, and dreamed the whole thing.

But then there was a whoosh of air behind him, and he turned to see the horse standing in the sanctuary, its tail swishing behind it, making the candles flicker and grow brighter. The horse whinnied, tossing its head, and Yanil could swear it looked pleased.

And then, just as soon as it had appeared, the horse was gone. Yanil ran a shaky hand through his hair, a hysterical laugh bubbling out of him. The herds would be strong next year, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to misswonderheart, freosan, and everyone else who helped me out with this one!


End file.
